


every imperfect ending

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Birthday, Early Mornings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memories, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 02:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18065276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Sometimes, Bucky thinks, they are no more broken than they were the first moment they touched, skin to skin, murmuring uncertain, eager kisses against each other's mouths.





	every imperfect ending

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 102nd birthday, Bucky Barnes :') 
> 
> Written to fill the 'physical imperfections' square on my Trope Bingo Round 12 card.

Steve's fingers move over the edge of Bucky's right shoulder with practiced care and affection, his fingertips wandering down toward an old scar. His fingers trace uneven skin and the ragged edges of a knife-cut. The scarred area doesn't hurt anymore--of course it doesn't, years and lifetimes have passed since that brawl behind Hanley's old place--but Bucky feels a phantom twinge as Steve strokes his shoulder and smiles. 

"We should get up," Bucky murmurs. 

Steve smiles again and leans in to press a kiss to Bucky's lips, then to the corner of his mouth. "We should." 

The cloudy Sunday morning cloaks their bedroom in cool, muted greys and the rain falls outside in slow, steady patter against the New York streets. Steve shifts beneath the blankets, his body warm and close, and strokes his thumb back over the scar and the rise of Bucky's collarbone. 

"We should do something fancy for your birthday. Go to the pictures, or something." Steve's voice goes low and soft, and he kisses the laugh from Bucky's mouth. 

When Bucky turns to kiss Steve back, even with his eyes closed he can map his lips over the bump on Steve's nose, the knick at the corner of his jaw, before he lets himself yield to the soft press of Steve's mouth against his own. 

Sometimes, Bucky thinks, they are no more broken than they were the first moment they touched, skin to skin, murmuring uncertain, eager kisses against each other's mouths.

Sometimes, he thinks, the life they could have lived had the war not interrupted the regular rhythm of their days together is etched right into their skin and worn bone-deep into their bodies. 

Sometimes, he thinks there was no other ending for them than this one: a collection of moments and memories strung together along a line of imperfect events that somehow brought him to a rainy Sunday morning, dove grey shadows and muted sunlight, the first promise of spring behind it all. 

And Steve, he knows, always Steve, brushing his cold feet against Bucky's to warm them up before he gets out of bed. 

Steve, standing in the kitchen on Sunday mornings, making coffee and whistling tunelessly along with the radio. 

Steve, his blond hair falling into his eyes and a faint blush rising over his cheeks when Bucky rubs his own thumb over that precious bump on his nose. The way he smiles before he kisses Bucky good morning, the way all the warmth in that first kiss gathers right in the center of Bucky's chest and squeezes just a little too tightly. Their third-floor, cold-water flat, an Army barracks in the middle of Europe, the Avengers compound, every imperfect ending; they wrote their stories into each other's skin. 

Bucky smiles and kisses Steve again, harder this time, and wraps his right hand around the curve of Steve's hip to hold him close. The memories crowd together for him still, blur and overlap. Yet, warmth and pleasant reassurance blur this set of memories: his birthday mornings spent with Steve, coffee in bed before work or Sunday mass, the press of Steve's mouth against his own, sweet and familiar.


End file.
